Carleton Countdown

On Finding Love

Also known as Portal 2. My love for this game is probably bordering on creepy.

I made cakes.

The Music Stole

I'm cheating again and posting stuff many of you have already seen. Sorry. FORGIVE ME! I promise there will be new stuff over Spring Break.*
*Promise is not actually valid.
But here. It's a sketch I wrote.

Superfluous narrator: [Jumps onstage] Hello! I am the superfluous narrator! Julia and Meredith are in the music store. Julia also has a bit of a speech impediment.
Julia: That’s a RYE! (lie). I can speak PULL-FECTRY (perfectly)!
Superfluous narrator: Sometimes, he switches L’s and R’s. She should probably see a DOCTOL (doctor) about that. [Pops offstage]
Julia: It’s Julian’s birthday in a couple months, and I FIGGLED (figured) I’d get him something music-related. It was that or something math-related, but I fear that would turn him into an inarticulate troglodyte.
Meredith: Yeah, you’re probably right. He’d be like, “Thanks for the present. I like numbauurrhs.”
Julia: [Imitating Meredith] Hehe. NUMBAULLS. But this leaves me with the PLOBREM (problem) of what to actually get.
Meredith: You should get him something he absolutely hates.
Julia: RIKE a LAP AIR BUM! (Like a rap album)
Meredith: I beg your pardon?
Julia: RIKE a LAP AIR BUM!
Meredith: Yes. Like a rap album.
Julia: I should get him that song that goes “The WHORE CRUB was ROOKING at HULL” (the whole club was looking at her).
Meredith: Do it. [Sings] “She hit the floor, next thing you know”
Julia: Shorty got ROW, ROW, ROW… (Low, low, low)
Meredith: Your boat, gently down the stream?
Julia: What the HERR are you talking about? But in all SILLYUSNESS (seriousness), what should I do? I won’t TOLL-CHUL (torture) him with LAP music. Instead, I could get him a mystery cd and I could LICK-LORE (Rick-roll) him!
Meredith: Uh, if you value your life, I would advise against Rick-rolling.
Julia: Then what do I do?
Meredith: You could just call him and ask what he wants.
Julia: I can’t do that! I want it to be a SUPPLIES! (surprise)
Meredith: Then why don’t you call Justin? He knows about music.
Julia: That’s a MALVEROUS PRAN! (marvelous plan) [looks at phone] Ugh, I hate my cell phone reception. I don’t have any BALLS! (bars)
Meredith: Woah, okay. Too much information.
Julia: I don’t even have to CAR (call) Justin. I know what he’ll say. He’ll say, “Get him some BEATERS!” (Beatles)
Meredith: Wait, like, egg beaters? What kind of present is that?
Julia: No! You know, the BEATERS. They sang that one song, HERP. Remember? “HERP! I need somebody—HERP! Not just anybody—HERP!”
Meredith: Ohhhh…Yeah, I don’t think he likes the Beatles. You could get him the Star Wars soundtrack. He likes Star Wars.
Julia: I love that movie! I love RUKE SKYWARKEL (Luke Skywalker). But I know he already has the Star Wars soundtrack. [Pauses to think, looks around] Hey, this store sells old LADY-O’S (radios)!
Meredith: What the hell is that? It sounds like some sort of erotic breakfast cereal. I would suggest not getting that for him.
Julia: No. [Points offstage] LADY-O’S.
Meredith: Ohh, I see. Why would he need a radio? Those are more obsolete than…stuff that’s really old.
Julia: LAWFUR COPTEL (roflcopter). ALLLG (arrrg), what do I get?
Meredith: You know, you’re really bad at getting people gifts.
Julia: It’s DIFFICURT! (difficult) It’s not my FART! (fault) Hmm, he’s also interested in politics. And Stephen Colbert has a PORITICAR (political) album out about this PLEASANT ERECTION (present election).
Meredith: What??
Julia: Wait, you don’t know about the ERECTION? You’re a TELLIBER (terrible) AMELICAN (American).
Meredith: Ohhh, no, I totally know about the present election. I just thought...never mind. Yeah, get him that.
Julia: Okay! HOLLAY! (Horray!) [Skips happily offstage]

Dear Midterms, I Wrote You a Poem.

You are the apple
Of my eye.
I hate apples;
Please go die.

I love you more
Than I can say.
I am mute;
Go away.

Love for you
Fills my heart with glee.
No, that’s my bladder.
Oops, must pee.


[end poem]
Schoolwork and midterms have been preventing me from posting recently. So I took this thing that I threw together last year in honor of college apping and physics honors misery and shall pretend that I wrote it for this express purpose.

Coolness

I've noticed that how cool I feel depends a great deal on how cool the people around me are. So here's a GRAPH of it! Because I adore graphs so.
Also, I realize I use 'you' to mean 'I' or 'me'. But I'm not going back and changing them. So, sorry if this doesn't apply to you, but I think you can deal with it.


(both quantities measured in Coolombs, of course)

a) You kind of feel like their GOD you am so relatively cool. But then you realize just how uncool the people around you are, and so that significantly lowers your coolness levels. It’s a nice balance – feeling massively superior among massively inferior beings. Plus, when you talk with incredibly uncool people, you feel like you're helping out those less fortunate. I've wondered if I can count talking to some people as community service.
P.S. Keep in mind, you're the one in the green shirt. But not the one getting his head licked. You're the OTHER ONE in the green shirt. In case you weren't sure.

b) There comes a point where the uncoolness of your surroundings stops being a novelty and your company just starts to seem incredibly, mind-numbingly dull. Every moment, more and more awesomeness is sucked away from your being. You just feel like the uncoolness of those around you is quicksand and you are sinking deeper and deeper into their pit of uncool. As you marinate in their pesto sauce of boredom, you think to yourself, "You guys are so dull that I know I'm cooler than you, but GAHHH it seems your dullness is rubbing off on me and I am incapable of saying anything remotely interesting."
You want to jump up and scream just to dilute the very concentrated solution of liquid boredom, but all you can do is sit there and drown in your own personal hell of doldrums.

c) This is the Goldilocks state--not too awesome, not too boring. Just right. Note: this level of company's awesomeness is just the slightest bit below yours. They are entertaining and cool enough to contribute to a meaningful conversation and/or hilarity, but you are just the slightest bit cooler so you still feel superior. But this time, you're not feeling superior to the most severely messed-up, antithesis-of-awesome creatures to ever roam the earth; you're feeling superior who are already moderately awesome. YOU ARE SO COOL.

d) Have you ever gotten the chance to come in close proximity to someone you really respect? If you're anything like me, the encounter probably went something like this:
- See awesome person do awesome thing (e.g., attend a Hank Green concert in a cafe in San Francisco and sit in the FIRST ROW. It was great; I was looking up the marvelous nose of Hank Green for a good couple hours.)
- Be amazed and fangirlishly speechless. Like this. Exactly like this. In fact, this is an incredibly accurate representation of my face during the concert. :


Generally, when you meet a celebrity, you fall into one of two categories:
1. Stunned silence/shyness-induced creepiness:
And when you finally work up the nerve to talk to them and possibly to bestow upon them a gift that seemed like a good idea when you made it but now just seems like a badly-made and slightly creepy badger figurine, your vocabulary suddenly shrinks by 70% and everything you ever learned about sentence structure takes a temporary vacation from your brain. You're left saying something like this:
And then you realize just how weird and creepy you must seem and make your getaway. In the least cool way possible, of course.

OR

2. Talkatively and ramblingly and embarrassingly praisingly, (gosh, that was a lot of adverbs) you continue to talk and talk until you bore the poor celebrity to death:
And neither of those options seem excessively cool. In fact, you feel so uncool, the graph goes NEGATIVE.

So, pick a moral of the story:
a. One should endeavor to only hang out with people slightly less cool than oneself
b. Everyone feels uncool at some point. Whatever. It's probably not as big a deal as you think it is.
c. Behind a streetlight is a bad hiding place.

The Essay-Writing Process

I made this last term when I really REALLY didn't want to write my essay. And because I'm lazy and don't want to actually create anything new, you get to read THIS! Yay!













And then you submit. Never, ever edit your paper.

In Honor of the Return of SCHOOL

School is starting up again (woot!), and that means a drastic increase in the amounts of a) calculus, and b) insanity.

And I think this post represents both quite well.

OH MY GOD, IT'S A DOUBLE INTEGRAL!

IT'S STARTING TO LOOK LIKE A TRIPLE INTEGRAL!